


something's coming over me to make me wonder

by montecarlos



Category: Motorcycling RPF
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dating, First Dates, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Soft Boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:27:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21526720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/montecarlos/pseuds/montecarlos
Summary: “Well, usually when two people like each other, they go on a date-” Fabio bites down on his lip and Maverick wants nothing more than to worry it between his own teeth. “So I was wondering-”“Umm, sure,” Maverick can feel his cheeks burning again.
Relationships: Fabio Quartararo/Maverick Viñales, Jorge Lorenzo/Dani Pedrosa, Marc Marquez/Valentino Rossi
Comments: 6
Kudos: 54





	something's coming over me to make me wonder

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so it totally wasn't my intention to write another fic about these two - but like I got a plot bunny after seeing Maverick's story yesterday where he was wearing the Phillip Plein jacket. We know Jorge is a PP whore, and it's such a fuckboi date night outfit and Fabio also posted some pizza restaurant he was at, so I married the two together in this mishmash. It also combines THOSE light up shoes because I had to add them. It's like a whiplash against the last fic I wrote but I couldn't get the plot out of my head and the bulk of this was written in a few hours. I couldn't resist sticking a bit of Vale/Marc and Dani/Jorge in there as well. Title from Too Much by the Spice Girls, because well, I can. 
> 
> Thank you to J and L for their endless writing support.

Maverick downs the fifth shot that Dovi passes him, wincing at the bitter taste that blossoms over his tongue. He’s thankful for the calm Italian’s presence, managing to keep him and Marc apart as Marc bounces around, all wide smiles, charming everyone that he sees at the gala. Maverick is certain that Dorna will not approve of him throttling the eight time champion on live television.   
  
“Give him a break Mack, he broke up with Valentino,” Dovi says in the calm tone that he always eludes, tossing back another shot of vodka. “He’s just having a little fun,”   
  
Maverick resists the urge to snap. He was all too aware of the messy break-up between Marc and Valentino. It’s the reason that Valentino has been in an awful mood for the last few months, refusing to even go on the track for practise at the same time as Marc. He’s been snapping at everyone at Yamaha, even reducing a few of his mechanics to tears. “Yeah, well, Vale’s not exactly been making my life fun has he?”   
  
Dovi purses his lips and remains silent. Maverick knows that the Italian will not be drawn into any arguments and grabs another shot from the bar, slamming it back in one.   
  
“I think he’s got his eye on Fabio, you know,” Dovi finally cuts through the silence.   
  
Maverick’s dark eyes immediately snap up. “What?”   
  
“See for yourself,”   
  
Maverick immediately finds Marc - it’s not difficult, Marc has never being a shy, retiring person. But the sight before him makes his blood turn to ice, his stomach turning dangerously with nausea. Marc is kissing Fabio, his hands clutched into the lapels of the younger man’s suit, pulling their bodies flush against each other. Fabio’s eyes are closed and he makes no effort to push Marc away, his hand brushing gently over Marc’s neck -   
  
“I have to go,” Maverick mutters under his breath as he slams back another shot and storms off, leaving Dovi alone at the bar. He feels the sting of tears as he reaches the deserted balcony, moving his hand to swipe over his face.   
  
_Why does Marc get everything he wants?_   
  
He leans against the balcony, trying to block out the blaring techno music, his thoughts constantly going back to Fabio and Marc - Marc’s lips moving against Fabio’s, Fabio’s eyes closed and his hands stroking over Marc’s body - he _hates_ it. He’s nursed somewhat of a crush on Fabio ever since the younger rider moved up to MotoGP, immediately attracted to messy blonde hair, hazel eyes and a wide tooth-gapped smile, but he hides it. He’s not afraid of being out - hell, Valentino and Marc get all the attention anyway - but he doesn’t want to compromise his position in Yamaha or his career - or _Fabio's -_ in any way.   
  
Fabio is just something else for Marc to take away from him. He bites back another sob, his knuckles turning white against the railing of the balcony.   
  
“Maverick?” A familiar voice pipes up behind him and Maverick feels his shoulders stiffen at the French-tinged accent. He whips around, his dark eyes meeting Fabio. The twenty year old looks even more stunning up close, his black tuxedo seems to cling to every curve of his body, the shiny lapels glimmering in the dim lights of the balcony. His hair is slightly messy - Marc’s handiwork, Maverick thinks darkly - but the expression on his face is one of concern.   
  
“Are you okay?” The question is posed in Spanish, which makes Maverick jolt. He knows that Fabio is fluent in his mother language, but the way that Fabio says it - it sounds special.   
  
“M’fine,” Maverick mutters. “Shouldn’t you get back to Marc anyways?”   
  
Fabio chuckles and Maverick ignores the flutter in his chest. “He started crying, something about betraying Valentino, I think he went outside to go and call him on his voicemail,”   
  
Maverick raises an eyebrow. He’s sure that Valentino will not be happy about the inevitable ten voicemails that will be left on his phone by his distressed ex. “Right, why would I care?”   
  
“Mack,” The nickname sounds different when Fabio says it. “Can I ask you something?”   
  
“Sure,” Maverick glances down at his light-up trainers, the blue lights slowly glowing, making patterns against the tiled floor.   
  
“Do you like me?”   
  
Maverick feels his heart stop. His eyes slowly move to lock onto the taller rider in front of him. “W-what?” His mouth suddenly feels dry and a wave of dizziness washes over him. He curses Dovi internally for plying him with alcohol when the Italian knows he has no tolerance for it at all.   
  
“Do you like me?”   
  
“Of course, I like you Fabio, we’re friends,”   
  
Fabio bites his lip. “I think you know what I mean, Mack. Do you like me as more than a friend?”   
  
“I-” Maverick hesitates, but the corners of the younger rider’s lips are curved up into a smile, his hazel eyes fixed on him. “I do,” He gazes back down at his shoes, feeling the blush dance over his cheeks as the silence stretches out between them. He doesn’t know if he can handle Fabio’s rejection of his feelings.   
  
_Maybe he’s going to laugh at me and then go back and kiss Marc again? What if he goes and announces it to everyone that I have a crush-_ _  
_ _  
_ “Maverick, please look at me,” Fabio’s tone is soft and gentle, and Maverick bites down on his lip, knowing that the rejection is coming - “I’m flattered but you’re not my type,” - but it never comes. His dark eyes flicker up to meet Fabio’s hazel ones and there’s still a quirk of the smile clinging to the blonde’s lips.   
  
“I know that you don’t feel the same-” Maverick finds himself blurting out before the younger rider can speak. “And that’s okay-”   
  
“I like you too, Mack,”   
  
Maverick feels his mouth drop open at the admission. “W-what?”   
  
“I like you too,”   
  
“But Marc-” Maverick says, shaking his head. “You’re with him-”   
  
Fabio laughs. “We’re not together. Marc isn’t my type, and it’s obvious to anyone that he’s still in love with Valentino-” He pauses for a moment. “He kissed me, I think he’s had a little too much to drink,”   
  
Maverick lets out a light chuckle because he knows all too well that Marc is a master on the bike and most of the things he does, but his fellow compatriot cannot hold his drink. Maverick himself has been on the receiving end of one of those kisses two years ago (it had taken him about three months to make Valentino speak to him again and stop keying his car at every race weekend.) “So, what now?”   
  
“Well, usually when two people like each other, they go on a date-” Fabio bites down on his lip and Maverick wants nothing more than to worry it between his own teeth. “So I was wondering-”   
  
“Umm, sure,” Maverick can feel his cheeks burning again.   
  
Fabio smiles, and Maverick feels his heart slam against his ribcage at the sight. “Great, say, tomorrow at 7? I’ll text you the details,” He leans in and presses a gentle kiss against Maverick’s cheek. His lips are warm but slightly chapped and Maverick feels the heat blossom over his skin as Fabio pulls away, winking before he turns on his heel, the door slamming shut behind him. Maverick watches him leave, his cheek still warm where Fabio kissed him.   
  
_What has he gotten himself in for?_

* * *

  
“I’m going on a date with Fabio,” Maverick announces, his dark eyes moving to meet Jack’s.   
  
The pair were holed up in Maverick’s motorhome the day after the gala, having a welcome break before testing began. They’re watching some crappy film in Spanish with English subtitles on, Jack slumped on the couch with his feet caught in Maverick’s lap.   
  
“Wait, wait, what the fuck do you mean you’re going on a date with Fabio?” Jack surveys his best friend with wide eyes.   
  
“He asked me last night,” Maverick worries his lip.   
  
Jack punches him in the arm. “Fucking finally mate! I never thought you’d stop pining after him,”   
  
“Shut up,” Maverick mutters, feeling his cheeks turn pink. Jack is all too aware of his crush on the younger rider, having ribbed him about it on countless occasions especially when he ends up posing for the pole photos alongside the blonde, or on the podium alongside him. “It’s just a date, that’s all,”   
  
“A date with the fella you’ve been pining over for the past few months, Mack,” Jack teases, the grin spreading over his face. “Just promise me that you’ll be safe, mate,”   
  
Maverick’s blush darkens as he shoves Jack’s feet off his lap. “Fuck you, I haven’t even thought about that-”   
  
“Yeah, you never noticed him staring at your ass all season either,”   
  
“Jack!”   
  
Jack holds his hands up as though in defeat. “What? I’m just saying, he’s been pining for you too, that’s all! So when are you going on this date?”   
  
“Tonight,” Maverick says meekly.   
  
“Tonight?” Jack sits upright with wide eyes. “What the hell do you plan on wearing? And please do not say those god awful light up shoes you had on last night, mate,”   
  
“They’re Philipp Plein,” Maverick says, sulkily. “And I didn’t bring anything else fancy with me, I was expecting to go on a date,”   
  
“Well, you can’t go out in your leathers, Mack,” Jack says, shaking his head as he finally untangles himself from the couch and stands up to move over to Maverick’s temporary wardrobe. He glances through the few items of clothing, muttering under his breath. “You literally have nothing here,”   
  
“Again, I wasn’t expecting to go on a date,” Maverick says, his head falling into his hands. “Maybe I should just cancel-”   
  
“No way,” Jack shakes his head, his mouth set into a tight frown. “You’re not backing out of this date,”   
  
Maverick sighs heavily. “I’m not turning up in my leathers, Jack,”   
  
“You could borrow some of my clothes, you’re about my size,”   
  
“Jack, you have the worst fashion sense of anyone I know,”   
  
“Light up shoes, Macky boy,” Jack says with an eye roll.   
  
“What about Vale? You’re teammates-”   
  
He can’t exactly ask Valentino if he has a jacket he can borrow - the glaring problems being that Valentino is probably not in his motorhome, and that he’s much bigger than Maverick - but despite sharing his name with a famous designer, Valentino has no fashion sense.   
  
“No fucking way,”

“Okay, well, what about Marc? Or Jorge?”  
  
Maverick can think of nothing worse than asking Marc Márquez if he can borrow some clothes - he envisions turning up in some stupid Pull & Bear hoodie with Marc’s name and number scribbled across it in neon pink letters and Fabio leaving the table without ordering anything. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea-”   
  
Maverick ends up standing outside Marc’s motorhome, shivering slightly in his thin hoodie, his fist knocking against the metal once again. He sighs heavily. Maybe the Spaniard has gone out with his brother for the night? But then he hears Marc’s muffled voice, barely audible through the door and anger flares up in his chest as he knocks on the door once again harshly. It’s one thing for the world champion to ignore him after the race, but not when he’s actively seeking Marc out for something. He’s about to knock again when the door is wrenched open. Maverick feels his eyes widen at the sight of Valentino standing in front of him, wearing nothing but a pair of bright yellow boxer shorts.   
  
“What do you want, Viñales?”   
  
Maverick opens his mouth and closes it again, taking in the sight of the reddening mark that has blossomed on the side of his teammate’s neck. “I-”   
  
“Who is it, querido?” Marc’s voice cuts through Maverick’s response and he feels his cheeks flush as the eight time world champion appears at Valentino’s side. Marc looks well and truly debauched, his dark hair mussed and his lips swollen, presumably from Valentino’s kisses. “Maverick, can I help you?”   
  
“No, no, it’s fine-” Maverick stutters out. “I’ll speak to Marc later,”   
  
“Doubt that, Viñales,” Valentino’s smirk is clearly evident and Maverick knows that Marc will be incapicitated for the remainder of the night, presumably with Valentino buried inside him. Maverick gives the pair a small smile and bids them goodnight, smirking as he hears Valentino slam the door with a little more force than necessary, the telltale thump and Marc’s groan telling Maverick all he needs to know. He knew that they’d end up finding their way back to another.   
  
However, as he moves away from Marc’s motorhome, eager to escape Marc’s moans, he remembers that he still has nothing to wear tonight. He’s about to make his way back to his own motorhome with his tail between his legs when he suddenly stops at Jorge’s motorhome. He’s not sure if the retired rider is even still there anymore, he’d been strangely absent from the gala last night - but Jorge has the closest style to his own, so if anyone can help him, it’s the Majorcan.   
  
There’s a motorcycle glove wedged on the door handle of Jorge’s motorhome. Maverick stares down at it in confusion before he knocks at the door. There’s no answer. The Spaniard waits a few moments before he knocks again - loud and brisk - but the door remains closed. Maverick glances up at the frosted windows - he can see the lights on inside, so there’s definitely somebody in there. He slams his fist against the door again in frustration, only for the glove to fall off the handle, pushing the door open.   
  
Maverick bites down on his lip as he surveys the open door. He’s never set foot in someone else’s motorhome without their permission, but this is an emergency - and if the lights are on and the door is open, it means someone is home. He tentatively steps inside, his teeth still caught in his lip as he enters the lounge area. It’s fairly nondescript, a comfy white couch with one of Jorge’s many Philipp Plein jackets hanging off the back, a few motorcycling magazines strewn over the coffee table along with some official looking folders. Maverick is about to turn on his heel and leave when he hears it.   
  
He moves towards where Jorge’s bedroom is - hoping that the Majorcan won’t be too pissed about Maverick wandering into his motorhome in the evening - he steps over what appears to be a pair of Jorge’s sneakers precariously dumped on the floor, and a shirt, a shirt that doesn’t belong to Jorge. Maverick knows that Red Bull logo anywhere - it’s a KTM shirt but what is it doing on Jorge’s floor -   
  
“Oh god,” Jorge’s voice suddenly cuts through the silence and Maverick freezes. He curses Jack for under his breath, listening out for any other noise but there is none. Deciding that he needs to just bite the bullet, Maverick pulls open the bedroom door -   
  
“Tony, you know the drill, when the glove is on the door, you don’t come over-” Jorge begins, stilling as he sees Maverick in the doorway. “What the fuck are you doing here?”   
  
Maverick is stunned into silence as he takes in the scene in front of him. Jorge is naked, his hair rumpled and there’s a bruise on the side of his collarbone presumably from an eager pair of lips. But underneath him, with blushing cheeks, is Dani Pedrosa, surveying him with dark eyes.   
  
The KTM shirt lying in the hallway suddenly makes perfect sense. Jorge’s desire to retire, also makes sense. “I- I’m sorry, I just wanted to borrow a jacket,”   
  
“Take the one on the couch and get the fuck out of here, Maverick. I’m busy,” The smirk curls on the corners of the Majorcan’s lips as Maverick turns on his heel and scarpers, his cheeks still red from embarrassment. He snatches up the jacket from the couch and leaves Jorge’s motorhome, making sure to carefully place the glove back onto the door handle as he tries not to think about Jorge fucking Dani.   
  
All Jorge’s talk of enjoying his retirement and feeling free finally make sense, Maverick realises as he makes the slow walk back to his own motorhome. He finally steps through the threshold and breathes a sigh of relief. It’s time to try and focus on his own love life.   
  
Jack has long gone, but he has left a note in his typical chicken scratch. A t-shirt and jeans that Maverick doesn’t remember bringing lay neatly folded at the side.   
  
_Mack,_ _  
_ _Found these in one of your suitcases. Think they’ll do the trick. Just don’t wear those bloody awful light up shoes and don’t second guess yourself._ _  
_ _J x_   
  
Maverick smirks at the words.   
  


* * *

  
He ends up wearing the shoes. They seem to fit the best with the outfit, he thinks as he surveys himself in the mirror one last time, making sure that his hair is styled perfectly. Maverick glances at his phone one last time, his dark eyes sliding over the message sent twenty minutes ago.   
  
_On my way_ _  
_ _F x_   
  
He sits down heavily on the couch, trying to control his breathing. He’s going on a date with Fabio, a man he’s had a crush on since the start of the season. He tries not to think about all the nights he’d spent palming his dick as he imagines his hand pushing through messy blonde hair, how Fabio’s lips would feel against his own -   
_  
_ _What if Fabio thinks I’m boring? What if he realises that he doesn’t actually like me at all?_   
  
A knock at the door breaks through his thoughts and he gingerly pulls himself to his feet with a heavy sigh. No turning back now, he tells himself, as he opens the door only to be confronted with a large bouquet of red roses and a smile that he can’t seem to get out of his head. Fabio looks ridiculously good - clothed in a faded, soft grey t-shirt and jeans, his hair is messy as always, seeming to have a mind of his own. Fabio presses a light kiss to Maverick’s cheek as the Spaniard leans forward to accept the flowers.   
  
Hazel eyes seem to drink in the sight of him and Maverick feels his heart flutter at the smile permanently on Fabio’s lips. “You look beautiful,” Fabio says quietly, almost in wonder.   
  
“Thank you,” Maverick can feel the blush painting his cheeks. “You look great too-”   
  
The smile grows bigger. “Thanks, Mack. Should we get going?”   
  
Maverick nods once, placing the bouquet gently down on the table before he moves back towards the young rider. Fabio’s hand immediately finds his own. It’s warm and strong, the callouses from bike riding rub against Maverick’s skin, but he doesn’t care. Fabio’s hand feels right in his own.   
  


* * *

  
“Tom recommended this place to me,” The smile hasn’t left Fabio’s lips since they left the track to make the drive into Valencia. His hand is still curled around Maverick’s, as he tugs the Spaniard towards a cosy looking Italian restaurant. Maverick raises an eyebrow at the Frenchman.   
  
“What? They do good pizza. It’s the end of the season, you can train later,”   
  
Maverick finds himself smiling as Fabio pulls him into the restaurant and they’re immediately shown to a booth in the corner, a single candle burning on the table between them. Maverick briefly looks at the menu, his eyes constantly glancing over to Fabio, who looks focused on the menu in front of him. He looks beautiful in the dim candlelight, his blonde hair looks almost gold. Hazel eyes flicker up to meet his own and Maverick jolts at being caught staring.   
  
Thankfully, the waiter interrupts them for their order (prosciutto e funghi for Fabio and capricciosa for Maverick, both men decline to see the wine list).   
  
“You know I’ve liked you since I was in Moto2,”   
  
Maverick nearly spits out his sparkling water at the admission. “What?”   
  
“I thought you were cute even back then. I tried to get Edgar to come along with me and introduce myself but I chickened out of it-”   
  
“Why?”   
  
“Well, like you were a MotoGP rider - and like a Yamaha one at that,”   
  
Maverick raises an eyebrow. “Well, you’re a MotoGP rider now,”   
  
“Yeah, but like I’m a rookie, you’ve won loads of times-”   
  
“Hey,” Maverick’s hand reaches out to grasp Fabio’s. “Your first win will come. Márquez is a bastard to compete against - just ask Vale or Jorge,”   
  
“I know, but like I just wanted at least one win in my rookie year, just to prove the doubters wrong-”   
  
“And you have, Fabio,” Maverick’s voice is soft. “You’ve proved everyone wrong. That’s worth more than a win,”   
  
Fabio smiles, squeezing Maverick’s hand gently, ignoring the blush that falls over the older man’s cheeks. The pizza arrives soon afterwards, along with another bottle of sparkling water and Maverick reluctantly pulls his hand away as they dig in. The pizza is good - Maverick makes a note to thank Tom for recommending it - but the company is even better. The conversation turns to what Maverick had witnessed earlier that evening.   
  
“Jorge and Dani?” Maverick’s eyes are wide. “I thought they hated each other after the Honda thing?”   
  
“So did I, but it’s hard to hate someone when they’re fucking them senseless in your motorhome,”   
  
Fabio’s cheeks turn pink. “And Marc is back with Valentino?”   
  
“Those two are destined to be together. They always find their way back to one another. On the plus side, if Marc isn’t a complete dick, Valentino may be less of a bastard next season,”   
  
“May be?”   
  
“Vale’s never been the soft and cuddly type with anyone but Marc. I think after he’d had Jorge as his teammate, he got worse - I’m used to it though, most of the time, he just needs a blowjob,”   
  
Fabio’s cheeks are still full of colour. “Not from you I hope?”   
  
Maverick chokes on a piece of mushroom. “God no, I have never-”   
  
“Oh,” Fabio looks away for a moment. “There were just some rumours about you and Vale after he and Marc broke up-”   
  
Maverick bites back a laugh. “Vale isn’t my type,”   
  
“Oh, you have a type?” Fabio teases, his hazel eyes seem to sparkle in the dim candlelight.   
  
“Yeah, blonde hair, hazel eyes, a smile to die for-” Maverick blurts out and Fabio _beams_ .   
  


* * *

  
“I had such a good time tonight,” Fabio says with a smile, glancing down at Maverick. Their hands have found one another again and Maverick tries to push away the sensation that wrenches in his chest at Fabio’s touch.   
  
“Me too,” Maverick murmurs, returning the smile. “I’m glad I came out,”   
  
Fabio’s gaze lingers on Maverick’s lips. “I want to kiss you,”   
  
“Then what are you waiting for?” Maverick whispers breathlessly.   
  
Fabio leans in and closes the gap between himself and Maverick, sealing their lips together. His hands move to clasp at the lapels of Maverick’s Philipp Plein jacket as he pulls the shorter man closer, their bodies flush against each other. The kiss is slow and soft, Fabio’s lips slowly move against his own and his hand ends up fisted in blonde, messy hair. Maverick’s eyes slide closed as Fabio’s tongue swipes over the curve of his lips and he allows the Frenchman to deepen the kiss. He tastes like the pizza they have just eaten. Maverick’s breath is caught in his chest as Fabio’s tongue moves against his own, soft and almost tenderly. He responds in earnest, tugging a little firmly on the messy blonde strands, eliciting a moan from the Frenchman as their bodies grind against each other. Maverick’s thigh makes contact with the swell in Fabio’s jeans and he smirks, slowly pulling away.   
  
“What do you say we finish this back at my motorhome?”   
  
Fabio nods almost slowly and shyly, his hands still fixed on the lapels of Maverick’s jacket. “Sounds like a good plan,”   
  
They reluctantly pull away from one another but Fabio throws his arm, almost possessively over Maverick’s shoulder pulling the older rider close to him as they make their way down the street.   
  
“Is that Jorge’s jacket?” Fabio’s fingers still on the collar of Maverick’s jacket.   
  
“Who cares. It’ll look better on my floor won’t it?” Maverick says with a grin.   
  
He receives a text message a few hours later when Fabio is fast asleep against his shoulder, his tattooed arm wrapped around Maverick’s middle.  
  
  
 _There better not be any semen on my jacket, Mack.  
_   
  
He chuckles gently to himself, glancing down at the sleeping man pressed against him, moving to press a soft kiss against his forehead.


End file.
